


The Tipping Point

by MisanthropicDragon



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Character Death, Drug Use, Suicide, The Phantom Pain spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropicDragon/pseuds/MisanthropicDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self indulgent 'what-if' fic about Kaz trying (and failing) to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tipping Point

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most self indulgence thing I've ever written in my life and I'm extremely sorry if it's really ooc.   
> I just really wanted to write some suffering Kaz. God, I've never written anything like this before.
> 
> Also, little side note, I don't condone the use of drugs so don't do drugs.

Kaz felt like his whole world had been destroyed. Everything they’d worked on together, everything they’d built from the ground up, gone. The feeling was akin to watching Mother Base fall the first time, but worse.

 

What was he supposed to do? Act like he was okay with it all? He certainly wasn’t. He was damaged, hurt, and broken, by the very man he’d hoped would never do such a thing to him. At first, he wanted to blame Venom. He wanted to be furious with him, take his anger out on him. But the man had been robbed of more than Kaz had. It made him feel stupid, to be so affected by the lies and manipulation of an old friend, when Venom had been robbed of his own sense of self.

 

Not that the guilt would change Kaz’s mind. No, it only made him feel worse. Down to his core, he felt broken, rotted. He’d been drinking a lot since he’d found out. No food, no water, just the whiskey he knew _his_ Boss loved at one point. Or maybe, he lied about that too, Kaz thought to himself bitterly with a sneer to an empty room. He would drink until he passed out, wake up, throw up, then start all over again. The complete and utter lack of concern for his own well-being had gotten more and more apparent to everyone, but no one assumed he’d go any further than wallowing in his depression and alcoholism.

 

Ocelot and Venom had decided it’d be best to let him hash his feelings out on his own, not make him feel any more vulnerable than he already did. What they hadn’t noticed however, was how thin Kaz had gotten, the bags under his eyes, how pale his skin had become. Track marks riddled his good leg, a testament to his current problem. In his, admittedly awful, defence, the alcohol had quickly begun to not be enough to forget what happened.

 

Quickly stealing supplies from the medbay hadn’t been hard at all, not with his position of power. Needles and a tourniquet big enough for his thigh were all he needed to grab. Without a spare hand, he couldn’t exactly boil anything. Cold shots had to do, regardless of the risks. One he held the needle just right in his hand, using his thumb, he drew back the plunger, the syringe filling up with the discolored drug. Leaning back in his chair with a needle in hand, he tried to locate a free spot in his legs, while his mind wandered, thinking about Costa Rica.

 

The Costa Rican sands had been so nice and warm, waters clear and beautiful with sunsets to die for. Him and Boss, they’d spent time together watching the sunset on the beach. At one time, it was the best and happiest memory that he’d held dear to his heart. Now, it felt bitter and left a disgusting taste in his mouth. It felt fake, like a lie.

 

They’d built so much together, he thought, flicking the syringe to make sure it was devoid of air bubbles. Once he deemed it suitable, he looked down at his good leg, tourniquet strapped tight around his thigh. Inhaling sharply, he hovered the needle over his leg. With his loud exhale, he pressed the needle into his flesh with urgency, waiting with baited breath to hear the ‘pop’ of the puncture. With his finger easing the plunger down, he sighed out in shaky relief.

  
  


Once he finished up the dose, his head lulled back as he pulled the needle out of his leg and tossed the syringe to the floor, shuddering. It’d been quiet, save for sounds of Kaz’s laboured breaths and the radio playing faintly, some older hit he’d probably recognize if he’d been sober. A lazy, stupid grin spread across his face, absolute euphoria washing over him. It was better this way, unable to feel the mocking “pain” of his missing limbs and the dull ache in his chest. Did he have a heart? At that point, he wasn’t so sure.

 

It wasn’t enough though, it was never enough. He always needed more and more. When he sluggishly moved to grab another needle, off the far away desk, he fell from his chair. A lazy laugh erupted from his throat, only to die down again, the room eerily silent. For a moment, he debated on staying on the floor. But instead of getting up, he focused on the ever-lasting journey of reaching up on his desk for the next needle. When his fingertips touched it, he grasped it and slowly made his way through the process again. His eyes felt so heavy, so droopy… Another shot.

 

A long sigh escaped him again. “Boss...” Kaz uttered under his breath in an almost silent prayer, lips parted slightly and shiny with drool. This was how he wanted to die, he’d thought. Kaz had spent so much of his life sad, bitter. Only fitting he’d get to die in a state of total euphoria, right? One last fleeting moment of happiness before the end. Why not? He’d never be whole, would never be happy.

 

The song felt louder, hurting his head and reverberating in his skull. He felt like he was trying to give himself a kickstart to get up and cope, continue living. All he’d done was numb himself from the pain and give himself a false illusion of temporary happiness. Not that he’d complain, he wasn’t exactly in any position to. Kaz would take anything that’d pull him from reality, if he was honest with himself.

 

Thoughts were escaping Kaz as quick as they’d form. He could barely articulate a coherent thought, other than _his_ name and face. If he had to do it all over again, he wasn’t sure if he’d be so opposed to that. Dying like this, under the guise that _his_ Boss still loved him and was still somewhere out there thinking of him, was a pretty good way to go out in his book. Better than dying completely alone, he supposed.

 

If he wanted, he could pretend that all he was told had been a big joke. Pretend that there was no phantom and these that all years with Big Boss were real, that he hadn’t been manipulated and used. It was a nice fantasy, a good thing to imagine that he thought made him feel warm, rather than actually feeling the real chills in his body from the drugs. When Kaz tried to swallow, he found his mouth unbearably dry. Not like there was much he could’ve done about it, he was already in pretty rough shape, unable to gather the will to move. There wouldn’t have been much of a point, really.

 

When he tried to suck in a deep breath, he noticed it ached, his breaths shallow and sickly. Panic started to consume him, his pulse feeling weaker with every passing second. With the last few twitches of his weakened muscles, he desperately attempted to relax himself. Smile on his face, he let his eyes fall half closed, his face the perfect picture of eternal bliss. Using his last breath, he breathed out into the dark ‘John…’ as the once already dim lights in his eyes wore out.

 

 


End file.
